Davy Jones's Personal Chronicles
by WillyWiluhps
Summary: Captain Jones got a notebook for his birthday, wherein he records daily happenings and inner musings.
1. Chapter 1

Well when I went to see the second _Pirates of the Caribbean_ movie again (free on the Navy Base, foshizzle), I was struck by the fact that Davy Jones and his crew don't seem to do much except play with dice and recruit new crew members. Now, obviously, this cannot be ALL that they do. And somehow I had this idea. Hopefully it hasn't been done before. But if it has, I don't really care.

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_Tuesday, 3 March, 1750, 8.32 P.M._

I received this diary for

"Diary" is a very effeminate term. I don't believe I shall be using it in the future.

I received this journal

"Journal" is not such a good word, either. It has a rather pathetic ring to it, as if I purposely did not use "diary". Were I to use the word "journal", it would be immediately assumed that I used it upon careful consideration of the word "diary" and then decided to use "journal" in its stead in an effort to assert my masculinity, which, of course, diminishes its purpose. And of course it is ludicrous to even think that I would need to assert my masculinity.

I received this captain's log for my birthday yesterday. I am a Pisces. Rather appropriate, I believe, elle oh elles. My birthday is almost the same as Ron Weasley's! I finally put aside my captainly duties and finished the new _Harry Potter_ book. My goodness! Such drama.

The crew threw for me a quite pleasant twenty-ninth birthday. I think this was my best twenty-ninth birthday ever. I wish I could know who gave this log to me. Oh, unfortunately for me, the crew was rather frightened and could only throw my gifts at my feet. I suppose it must be rather terrifying to see a cephalopod/crab/Scotsman completely bladdered. I wouldn't know, for as far as I am concerned I am the only one. It was a very special day, because it had been exactly ten years since I had been on land, so we clambered to a pub and well, I must say, when you go out with Jonesy and the crew, well, hey hey! Sometimes things happen that you can't erase, eh? Eh?

Today I was joking with that Turner man. I told him I might have to fire him for drunkenness. Then I said, "Hypocrite warning!"

I don't think he understood. He is rather a bit slower than I might have hoped. I think perhaps the mussels lodged in his neck may have something to do with it. He doesn't take very good care of himself, that man. He's rather stiff. He smells rather odd. Whereas I and the rest of the crew smell appropriately of salt and duck droppings, Mr Turner smells of something resembling dog food. Or perhaps each crew member has his own unique aroma, but I do not spend enough time with each one individually to realise it. Mayhap I should launch a project wherein I spend quality time with each crew member to strengthen local relations.

Though I must say, I was getting a little bit too friendly yesterday, when we went drinking. I believe I was hitting on Koleniko, though I cannot remember it at all. The only reason I come to this conclusion is that today he winked at me!

I don't know what to do. Nobody has winked at me since my fourteenth twenty-ninth birthday party. And I only think she winked at me because of all that sand that was kicked into her face.

I know that I am decidedly handsome—but I must wonder if perhaps I intimidate women. It must be difficult to attempt to talk to somebody of my sexual calibre. Oh, the tender babes! Of course they

God's feet—I just got chocolate on my smoking jacket! One of my cronies gave me a chocolate button, and I dropped it, and it melted all over me! How annoying.

Well, yesterday's twenty-ninth birthday party was rather fun. They played that one Santana song.

On the way back to the _Dutchman_, though, somebody was making fun of me. He said I'm not cool. He said I am old. I'm not old! I am cool! So I slapped him. I slapped him and asked him if "unnecessary" torture was cool.

Let him think about that.

Well, on the bright side, my tentacles looked really great today. And I'm much cooler than that Turner. He's a dork.

_Friday, 6 March, 1750, 11.14 P.M._

I was so depressed today. I eventually felt so melancholy that I decided to paint a self-portrait in monochromatic oils. But while I was painting I realised that I wanted to paint to music. And what better music than my own organ-playing? So I decided to play a piece of my own composition while painting.

It didn't work out the way I'd planned and now I have to go find a way to get oil paints out of cambric.

_Sunday, 8 March, 1750, 1.08 A.M._

I was still sad today so I decided to Google my name. I'm actually mentioned in quite a few song lyrics. Frenzal Rhomb has the right idea! Ha ha ha. Sometimes my locker is mentioned on _Rocko's Modern Life_, too, which makes me feel better, even though they're really talking about the Monkee.

I honestly don't know what the big deal is about my locker. It's all been blown so out of proportion. I mean, come on, you stuff a few guys in their lockers in high school and suddenly you're this hulking bully for the rest of your life.

I never got around to decorating my locker. Everybody else has photos and little magnetic holders for quills and pencils, but my locker door is completely bare. I think I should decorate it. I'm thinking maybe I'll start with a mirror and add to it as I go. Only thing is, where am I going to find a mirror when I'm in the middle of the ocean? There are a few on deck, but the crew likes to use them for coke and I wouldn't want to deprive them of that. I really think it's much crueler to keep them on the stuff than to have them ultimately get over it.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you to my reviewers! I'm glad you like it. That makes me feel nice. Here is a very quick update.

Oh, and threeheadedmonkey--is your name inspired by a certain Mr Threepwood?

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_Wednesday, 11 March, 1750, 6.21 P.M._

Looking back over my captain's log, I realised that quite a few people have stolen my name over the years. Most famously Davy Jones, but also Davy Jones, Davy Jones, and David Bowie. Aye, but how many of them are famous dread pirates? None! That's how many. I'm the only piratical Davy Jones there is, and I'm bloody good at it.

Meanwhile, there are many pirates named "Jack", I've noticed. Jack Sparrow, Jack Rackham, Jack Breton (admittedly not famous, but a charming bloke nonetheless). I don't understand this fascination with the nickname, seeing as "Jack" is nearly always the name that teen-aged girls take on as an alias when dressed as boys. Another interesting point that has occurred to me is that there are Jacks both Black and White.

In other news, today Ogilvey checked out my teeth. He said I probably should have continued wearing my retainer in my youth, but he says that every few months so it's no big deal. I told him that in _1984_ Winston invented a man named Ogilvy. He didn't know what I was talking about. It's so frustrating that none of the crew has read the same books as I. There's nobody with whom I can discuss _The Catcher in the Rye_, which is annoying beyond belief. I think I really identify with Holden.

I think I have to take down these invisible walls and not be such a despot.

_Monday, 16 March, 1750, 10.48 P.M._

OKAY. A few nights ago I drank some raspberry-garnished concoctions and somehow got it into my head that I needed to show my crew some more gratitude. I made an announcement, calling them my "love kittens", and told them some very deep and pressing thoughts. I don't remember anything beyond that but for some reason we've set course towards Japan.

_Friday, 20 March, 1750, 9.45 P.M._

I had to have a Little Talk with the navigator today. He said he understood completely, but to keep up appearances I told him that his spherical existence was a disgrace to our cubic society. That humbled the cocky bastard.

_Thursday, 26 March, 1750, 11.22 P.M._

Sometimes I think I'm completely irrelevant to the world. Almost as if I haven't made an impression at all. I don't bring it up because I WANT to be, it's just that sometimes things happen all out-of-order or inside-out. I don't mean to push people away, it just happens by accident. I know I have this metaphorical bubble around me, and I know I put it there, I just don't remember dipping the wand into the solution, if you will.

I guess this means I should make a list of ten things about me that are great:

CAPT. DAVY JONES'S UNIQUE TALENTS

1 Playing compositions written for up to three organists

2 Sick text-messaging skills

3 Typing 402 words per minute with no mechanical errors

4 Paleontology majour

5 Aquatic teleportation

6 Invincible!

7 Power over kraken

8 Super-long and multi-jointed right index finger

9 Vice-like left grip

10 Multi-tasking beard

_Sunday, 29 March, 1750, 11.52 P.M._

I got a really late newspaper today and found out that on my birthday there was an earthquake in London! Sweet.

But that's the problem with being out at sea. All the newspapers are really late, and electricity isn't at its best. The news is pretty unreliable. But I think the worst problem is all the tension of living together. Today, Maccus and Jimmylegs got into a fight over whose iPod would be hooked up to the ship's P.A. during work-out time. I don't know why they were fighting about it, because they have practically all the same music. I guess it's just what happens when you're bored and despondent.

So I had to sort out that scrap, and then I also had to tell a bunch of them to stop shirking off. It looks like they're getting restless, which means we're going to have to go kill or get some new recruits like tomorrow. I can't believe how busy I am.


	3. Chapter 3

_Monday, 30 March, 1750, 3.04 P.M._

Today there was this French man who spoke no English and said he needed my help (we were on their ship to kill/recruit—it relieves tension). He said he was walking all over the ship looking for someone with a knife to sharpen his pencil. So I got out my switchblade, and I sharpened his pencil and then I stabbed him in the heart. I felt like a supervillain. It was way cool.

_Thursday, 2 April, 1750, 12.31 P.M._

Three o'clock today—dinner with Capt. LeChuck. Deathly excited!!!

Things to Remember: do not bring up Miss Marley and do NOT order root beer.

_Friday, 3 April, 1750, 4.44 P.M._

I have been hanging out with tonnes! of cool people lately and having scads of fun. Spring has been great so far. I am actually being social! It is good.

The dinner last night was pleasant. We discussed a bit of pogonology and he told me he could get me a LeChuckie doll if I gave him some time. I said sure, I mean it's not like I have anything BETTER to do all day but wait for the mail to come.

_Wednesday, 8 April, 1750, 1.29 A.M._

MASTERED: seduction?

CONTROL: levels of inadequacy.

_Wednesday, 15 April, 1750, 7.24 P.M._

One of the kraken's tentacles got scratched. Who decided to go and invent oysters?? Oh yeah, God. THANKS MAN!

_Wednesday, 22 April, 1750, 6.09 P.M._

So I decided to call LeChuck today...big mistake. I just wanted advice on my latest project idea but he got totally mad at me for no reason. I really shouldn't worry about it, because it's probably just that he thought his hair looked gross or something. Hey, at least he has hair!!!

He mentioned Mr Turner's eunuch son, Guybrush. What a dweeb. It's easy to see where he gets it from.

_Thursday, 23 April, 1750, 3.15 A.M._

LeChuck called me back and apologised. He said he was just angry because apparently Mr Turner's eunuch son Guybrush has been trying to become a pirate.

I'm almost offended by this. He's really going to be giving pirates everywhere a bad name. It's just like these people I knew once. I knew this woman named Mrs Lachtna who made the best porridge. I mean it was really, really good. Then there was this man named Albert who was coming to visit, and Solomon said, "Ooh, Albert isn't going to like Mrs Lachtna's porridge." I said, "Why not? She makes like the best porridge." He said, "Well, Albert's mother makes really terrible porridge, but that's what he thinks all porridge tastes like, so he'll hate Mrs Lachtna's."

I was totally SHOCKED!!

But if Mr Turner's eunuch son Guybrush decides he wants to be a pirate, I can only imagine what people will think of real pirates like me! They will think I am totally nerdy and impotent!

OMG. I can't let this happen. Guybrush is a dead "man". I am going to KILL him.

brb

_Sunday, 26 April, 1750, 11.34 A.M._

I hate how I suck so much : (

I asked Mr Turner about his eunuch son Guybrush...apparently he HAS no eunuch son Guybrush. Jeez. I really should not believe everything I hear.

Unless...

Oh well...no time for tin-foil hats. I'm doing a business lunch with LeChuck at Señor Frog's to talk about possible revisions to the PATs. I don't know, I mean I think it's a good idea and everything, because blokes who don't pass the Pirate Aptitude Test rarely make good pirates, but the thing is then a bunch of my guys will be obsolete. Every time I see Quittance he's grown some new starfish or something, and I keep TELLING him that I'm going to get him a test and a pencil, but then I invariably get sidetracked. I mean I COULD totally just hire new guys...

LeChuck really is one of the coolest people I know...

So...why am I not looking forward to seeing you?? I am SO confused.


End file.
